ON BEING “RED” EMMA”-The Emma Goldman Story

 

"Red" Emma Goldman-The Fate of An Anarchist Woman

DVD REVIEW

EMMA GOLDMAN: AN EXCEEDINGLY DANGEROUS WOMAN, PBS, 2004

Sometimes in reviewing a political biography or autobiography of some capitalist hanger-on such as George Bush, Tony Blair or Jacques Chirac it is simply a matter of dismissing a known and deadly political opponent and so heaping scorn up that person is part of the territory of being a leftist militant. For others who allegedly stand in the socialist tradition, like the old theoretical leader of the pre-World War I German social democracy Karl Kautsky,  but who provide reformist rather than revolutionary solutions to the pressing issues of the day that also tends to be true. However, with an enigmatic figure like the anarcho-communist and modern day feminist heroine  "Red" Emma Goldman it is harder to do the political savaging job that is necessary. Why? Ms. Goldman came out of that tradition of pre-World War I life-style anarchism (made fashionable in the Greenwich Village of the time) where her politics, to the extent that political carping is politics, placed her somewhere on the side of the angels. However, the total effect of her career as an anarchist propagandist, sometime agitator and proponent of women’s rights  shows very little as a contribution to radical history.

Obviously someone associated with the fiery German anarchist Johann Most is by any measure going to have trouble with the government at some point in their lives. Most was Goldman's lover and first teacher of the principles of ' propaganda by the deed' anarchism. For those readers not familiar with that tendency the core of the politics is that exemplary actions, not excluding martyrdom, by individual heroic revolutionaries are supposed to act as the catalyst to move the masses. In short, these are the politics of shoot first and ask questions later. As a tactic within a revolutionary period it may prove necessary and make some sense but as a strategy to put masses in motion, no. Empathically, no.

Her own life provides the case study  for the negative aspects of this theory. At the time of the famous bloody Homestead Steel strike in the 1890's here in America Ms. Goldman's lifelong companion and fellow anarchist of the deed, Alexander Berkman, decided that the assassination of one Henry Frick, bloody symbol of capitalist greed in the strike, would serve  in order to intensify the struggle of capital against labor. Needless to say, although Mr. Berkman was successful, in part, in his attempt both Mr. Frick and the Homestead plant were back in business forthwith. For his pains Berkman received a long jail sentence.

However, the most troubling aspect of Ms. Goldman's career is her relationship to the Bolshevik Revolution. Let us be clear, as readers of this space may  I have not tried to hide the problems in that revolution from which, given the course of history in the 20^th century, the Soviet Union was never able to recover. However, from Ms. Goldman's descriptions of the problems seen in her short stay in the Soviet Union just after the revolutionary takeover one would have to assume that, like most aspects of her life this was just one more issue to walk away from. She, moreover,  became a life-long opponent of that regime. Some pre-World War I anarchists were able to see the historic importance  of  the creation of the Soviet state and were drawn to the Communist International. Others, like Emma,  used that flawed experiment as a reason to, in essence, reconcile themselves to the bourgeois order.  Nowhere is that position, and that tension, more blatantly spelled out that in Spain in 1936.

Spain, 1936 was the political dividing point for all kinds of political tendencies, right and left. While we will allow the rightists to stew in their own juices the various positions on the left in the cauldron of revolution graphically illustrate the roadblocks to revolution that allowed fascism, Spanish style, to gain an undeserved military victory and ruin the political perspectives of at least two generations of Spanish militants. The classic anarchist position is to deny the centrality of conquering  and transformation of the capitalist state power (and the old ruling governmental, social, cultural and economic apparatuses).  To the anarchist this necessity is somehow to be morphed away but who knows what. Yes, that is the theory but on the hard ground of Spain that was not the reality as the main anarchist federation FAI/CNT gave political support to the bourgeois republican government and accepted seats in that government. These same elements went on to play a part in disarming the 1937 Barcelona uprising that could have sparked a new revolutionary outburst on the disheartened workers and peasants. So much for anarchist practice in the clutch. Ms. Goldman spent no little ink defending the actions of her comrades in Spain. Wrong on Russia and Spain, on the side of the angels on women's issues and the need to fight capitalism. In short, all over the political map on strategic issues. Still, although Emma was, and her defenders today are, political opponents  this writer does not relish that fact.

 

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Topics:

1. The Relevance of Marxism Today

After the collapse of the Soviet Union the ideas of Marxism were considered dead and buried. It represented an historic setback, leading to a lowering of class consciousness. But the present global crisis is shaking the foundation of capitalism once again and workers and youth all around the world are searching for a way to fight back. This discussion in the morning will focus on the relevance of Marxist ideas today and how they can show a way forward for the struggle to overthrow capitalism.

READING: Stalinism and After (this is mostly background to the discussion which will focus more on Marxism in present period)

2. Building Socialist Alternative

In the northeast and all across the country there are opportunities to build new branches of Socialist Alternative and bring new activists in the socialist movement. How do we build our organization locally, nationally and internationally? What kind of organization are we building? What does it mean to be part of a revolutionary party and what role does it play? These are some of the topic discussed in this session in the afternoon.

READING: Building SA document from our May 2012 National Conference (for members only, do not forward)

3. International Solidarity Rally

We will conclude the day school with a brief rally (a couple short speeches) on the exciting and heroic international struggles taking place in the world today.

READING: check out socialistworld.net for new and analysis on most recent workers struggles from around the world.

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COME TO A PLANNING MEETING FOR PEACE AND JUSTICE ORGANIZATIONS TO LEARN

MORE AND TO ORGANIZE FURTHER ACTIONS AGAINST THE ILLEGAL SURVEILLANCE

OF THE BPD AND THE BRIC OPERATIONS

SUNDAY, NOVEMBER 4, 1:30-3:30 PM

HARVARD LAW SCHOOL

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6 EVERETT ST., OFF MASS. AVE., NORTH OF HARVARD SQ.

There is a long history of the police and FBI targeting peace and social justice groups, unions, and minority communities for surveillance, disruption and even worse. These assaults on our civil rights and liberties have intensified since 9/11 and the unleashing of the so-called ‘War on Terror’.

in spite of their attempts to cover up their unlawful actions, thanks to the National Lawyers Guild and the ACLU of Massachusetts, they got caught:

From ACLU/NLG press release: Boston Police officers make video recordings of peaceful demonstrations and track activists as well as the internal workings of political groups--even when there is no indication of criminal activity or a threat to public safety. The documents reveal that officers assigned to the BPD's regional domestic spying center, the Boston Regional Intelligence Center (BRIC), file so-called "intelligence reports" mischaracterizing peaceful groups such as Veterans for Peace, United for Justice with Peace and CodePink as "extremists," and peaceful protests as domestic "homeland security" threats and civil disturbances. These searchable records are retained for years, in violation of federal regulations, and were turned over to the ACLU and NLG only after they sued for access on behalf of local peace groups and activists.

The activist community is justifiably outraged and many wish to take more action. We know that the files that were released are just the tip of the iceberg and involve many more organizations and constituencies than involved in the recent lawsuit.

This is not a public meeting for wide publicity – it is an organizational meeting to discuss our options and to plan additional action.

Lawyers and representatives of the NLG and the ACLU will be there to put the current findings in context and discuss what further legal actions, if any, can be taken. Other suggestions that have been made for actions include: legislative action, petition campaign, demonstrations, letter writing, educational forums. We can decide to do any or all of these and set the goals for what we want to achieve.

For more information and to watch a video: www.aclum.org http://www.nlgmass.org

In the meantime, you are encouraged to send letters to the news media and to Mayor Menino and Police Commissioner Ed Davis.

Mayor Menino

One City Hall Square, Suite 500

Boston, MA 02201-2013

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Let's Get Out the Vote! Can you volunteer an hour or two on election day? We need people to hand out cards at the polls and hold signs. Sign up here! Get the word out! Pass out flyers in your community! Sign up here to get connected! Wed, Nov 1, Boston: Question 4 You? What Should Congress Prioritize in the Federal Budget? Rep. Jay Kaufman, Co-Chair, Joint Committee on Revenue; Michael Kane, Executive Director, National Alliance of HUD Tenants; Josh Young, Legislative Affairs Director, Action for Boston Community Development. 11am-12:30pm, St. Paul's Cathedral, 138 Tremont St, Boston -- Sproat Hall, basement. Sun., Nov. 4, Amesbury: The Moral Implications of the Federal Budget. Tila Neguse, Friends Committee on National Legislation, and high school student August Umholtz. 2:30 pm, Amesbury Friends Meetinghouse, 120 Friend Street. Tues, Nov 6, Jamaica Plain: Victory Party! 9pm, Doyle's Cafe, 3484 Washington St. Mass. Alliance of HUD Tenants is hosting the victory party for the Budget for All Coalition - all B4A volunteers are welcome! Free bar food in the Menino Room from 9pm. for President The Funniest Campaign in History An evening of laJimmy Tingle ughs in support of the Budget for All Referendum Tuesday, October 30, 2012 7:00 pm to 9:30 pm Davis Square Theatre 255 Elm Street, Somerville Nationally known comedian, filmmaker, and commentator Jimmy Tingle has constructed another hilarious, thought-provoking and politically charged presentation based on his 2012 satirical run for office. As the founder of the "Humor for Humanity" party, Jimmy Tingle is running on his comedic record. The campaign underlines his passion and creative thinking on every issue the next president must grapple with from alternative energy to immigration to jobs and the national debt. Despite the seriousness of the issues confronting America and the world, Jimmy Tingle for President is The Funniest Campaign in History! Check out Jimmy Tingle's National Defense Plan and other video clips! 7:00 pm – In-theatre viewing of the final Warren-Brown debate 8:00 pm – ‘Jimmy Tingle for President’ Special appearance by State Sen. Pat Jehlen in support of the Budget for All! $10 in advance, $15 at the door, $5 for students. Reserve online now! Cash Bar • Complimentary Refreshments Proceeds to benefit the Budget for All campaign Sponsored by the Budget for All Coalition, Massachusetts Peace Action, United for Justice with Peace, Somerville-Medford UJP, Arlington UJP and the Arlington 25% Campaign Information: 617-354-2169 or budget4allmass.org

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Out In The Be-Bop Night- The Search For The Blue-Pink Great Western Night-Postscript- The Torch Is Passed?-February 2011

Markin comment:

Maybe it was the sheer, hard fact of the California night calling after too long an absence, the California be-bop late 1960s night, the eternal California be-bop night after years of Maine solitude, of Maine grey-blue-white washed, white-crested, white-capped, foam-flecked Atlantic ocean-flotsam and jetsam strewn waters. After all not all oceans are created the same, not all oceans speak to one in the same way, although they are all old Father Neptune’s thoughtful playgrounds.

California’s, yes, white-washed, yes, white-crested, yes, white-capped, yes, foam-flecked speak to gentle, warm lapis lazuli blue wealth dreams of the quest, the long buried life long quest for the great blue-pink great American West night, blue-pinked skies of course. Yes maybe it was just that sheer hard fact that pushed me out of Eastern white, white to hate the sight of white, snowed-in doors, Eastern gale winds blowing a man against the sand-pebbled seas, and into the endless starless night. Yes, maybe just a change of color, or to color, from the white white whiteness of the sea walk white-etched night. Right down to the shoreline white.

Maybe it was the sheer, hard fact of preparing, against the timetable of that Eastern white night, this and that for the winter California day, and night, the ocean California that set the thoughts of the be-bop night, and the quest for the blue-pink skies humming once again in the, admittedly, older-boned voyager, voyeur of dreamed once sultry, steamy nights. A different proposition, a different proposition, on most days, from preparing to face fierce Maine winter mornings, unaided by the graces and forms nature provides its hardier creations. No thoughts today of heavy woolen coats, double-stitched, double-plied, doubled-vested, old nor’ easter worthy, or heavy woolen pants, same chino pants of youth, same black chino pants, no cuffs, except winter weight, not the always summer weight of no knowledge youth, or heavy boots, heavy clunky rubberish boots mocking against the snow-felt, ocean-edged soft sand streets, or maybe, more in tune with aged-bone recipes heavy-soled, heavy-rubber soled (or was it rubber souled) running shoes (also known in the wide world of youth as sneakers, better Chuck’s). Of scarves, and caps, full-bodied caps, better seaman’s caps, heavy, wool, dark blue, built to stand against the ocean-stormed waves crashing and thrashing against ships hulls, and gloves, gloves to keep your hands from frosty immobility I need not speak. Or will not speak.

No, today we think of great controversies of age, well, mini-controversies anyway, between hi-tech-derived aero-flow, toe-fitted, sheer meshed sneakers, or just old-fashioned, Velcro-snapped criss-cross leather sandals, toe-dangling in the sand streets ready. Or between jungle-fitted, twelve-pocketed (or so it seems), straight from the Ernest Hemingway African safari night ( so it seems, again) else, maybe, out of mad man gonzo journalist Hunter Thompson in full loathing regalia, or Reebok, Nike, Adidas, New Balance free-for-all athletic shorts. Or between hearty windbreakers, fit for eastern gales and western el ninos, versus light denim, light blue, tight fit, well, maybe tight fit, be young Marlon Brando or James Dean-worthy in some motorcycle hidden fantasy, jackets. All decisions, all timed but irrevocable once inside the airport terminal, and its maze, no beyond maze, beyond rate maze, of security and scrutiny.

Maybe it was the sheer, hard fact of just that airport invasion, the hard fact of the post-9/11 travel world. The running the gauntlet of checkpoints, charts, human body scanning screens, magic forgery detecting pens, bells, whistles, and surly, or maybe better, indifferent, human scanners, human searchers, human checkers. The piles of thrown away, seemingly harmless, harmless to these eyes, water bottles, pure-spring-ed water bottles (Evian, Poland Springs, Belmont Springs, home-filled reusable, filtered tap water L.L. Bean bottles, whatever) which now are deadly weapons, or could be, are a twisted metaphor for the scene. All in order to get from point A (east coast angry ocean waters) to point B (west coast, or hipper, at least used to be hipper, left coast gentle, spa-like, or faux spa waters) in less than six hours.

No more of timeless trips, or at least of months long trips, aimless but aim-full in their purposeful search. No more of Boston to Angelica Steubenville to roots Prestonsburg to Lexington (Kentucky that is, not revolutionary battlefield Lexington, not that trip anyway). No more Moline meltdowns and Neola corn field nights and Aunt Betty lazy, crazy, hazy suppers or solidarity rides to the desert Native American ghost sky night, drums beating back to primal times, and then over the last mountains down into California blue-pink haze. No, six hours, no more, or else breakdown against those bone-aged facts, and bone-aged stiffness rebellions. Or worst surrender to the think better, or at least twice, of such a trip gods, Egad has it come to that.

Maybe it was the sheer, hard fact of riding a rental car, a rental car, my god, a mid-sized, almost brand new, gadget-filled lights, horns, windshield wipers all controlled, whiplash computer-controlled, at the touch power steering. And I like a kid, a dumb, no California hot-rod head under the hood kid with car-ness in the very blood, but more of a youth spent no car, not dough for a car, miles walked, sneaker miles walked, kid, scratching my head to figure out what goes where and screaming onto that good night about how the hell have we come to such a complicated place where it requires seven degrees in astro-physics, at least, to get the damn thing started. No more of drowsy early morning truck stop diner pick-ups by benny-high, reds-low, mortgaged to the teeth zen truck-driving road masters carrying freights from here to there (I would say from point A to point B but that is used up already). No more of psychedelic- painted, further night, magical tour buses, old time yellow brick road school buses converted to living, breathing space on the endless hippie hitchhike 1960s road. No more even of old country hay wagons named, or misnamed, trucks picking up likely farm hands, penny-poor likely farm hands, to work for a few days before moving on. No more of that, indeed.

Maybe, and here we are reaching some home truths, it was the sheer, hard fact of seeing the azul ocean sea coming over the horizon at Laguna Hills or one of those endless, one-name-fits-all or should fit all Southern California beach towns filled with the mandatory fake, yes, fake Spanish décor. Of the ticky-tack rows (thanks Malvina Reynolds via Pete Seeger) of “Spanish” houses, oh, I mean, estates, where I see kids, kids no different than I was just waiting for the jail-break event of their generation, if it comes, and if they want long enough but not too long. Of the million and one surf shops for the youngsters to wax and wane on seeking of their own blue-pink nights (or days, more likely), the endless quest for the perfect wave. Of the strip mall rows of fast food eateries, fast clothes chanceries (swim suits a specialty), of sun-free indoor tanning against the rages of father sun. Of the quaint (nice word, right?), yes, quaint lobster dinner (lobster flown in from, from, ah, Maine), California fresh fish of the day, freshly caught, beach view restaurants or other finery, and of cruising (no, not that cruising) pedestrians of all sizes and shapes.

Shapes including show-off lovely formed younger girls, ah, women, maybe a young Angelica waiting to splash her first splash in mother Pacific, peaceful mother pacific. And all races and languages and ethnicities trying to figure out the lure of the heathered (almost like Scotland, Scotland of no burr) coastal shore to the Okies, Arkies and Texies, who descended here a couple of generations ago, planted roots, their migratory roots, not Eastern forever and a day roots, and never left. But still the gnawing question, the question of questions-where to go west from here. Not back to the okie dust bowl, that is for sure, not for those now corn-fed, yellow-haired (maybe genetically yellow from that corn) beauties of both sexes who are tied to the sea, to the endless quest for the perfect wave sea, even though from the look of them if I posed the question that way, that perfect wave search way, I would shunted away screaming in that previously mentioned good night.

Maybe it was the sheer, hard fact of walking ancient shoreline walks, soft sand kicking, shod-less feet kicking, tracing new written configurations to ancient gods in the previously clean-slated sand surface, occasionally pebble-dotted, seashell-scattered, as the ocean screams for quiet from those walking in its space and pleads, like some latter day librarian, not to disturb others. Of thoughts of ancient sorrows, and ancient laughters. Remembrances of Angelica first time ocean splashes, of riptide saves, of hero’s rewards for heroic saves, rewards better left to the imagination, ancient imagination. Of scaled seawalls that hold back tide, time and the brick-a-brack whims of fickle man, of humankind. Of squirrels, everlasting, ever-present seashore-loving burrowing squirrels filching, filching and begging, begging for human food against all good nature’s wisdom.

And getting it. The food that is. Of ocean side night campfires to protect against the force of the ocean chill, of ocean shadows, and of ocean smokes, thinking back to the days when cigarette smokes filled many pubic spaces. But better smells now of mesquite wood smells, of charcoals broils smells, of sea-drug up woods smoothed from ocean pounds smells. Of high ganja smells, of pellets and pills to ward off the ocean calls to the endless sleep, of the return to the homeland, of the homeland seas. And of skies of daytime blue, blue, blue enough to make a pair of pants out of, cloudless in afternoon after fogged-down mornings. Ah, but you what’s coming, what the whole shore line walk means. Yes, the night, no, not the night night, the dark, starless night of the poet’s lament, of ancient times wonder, and of modern no night human-crafted light beams breaking the will of the dark night. No, not that night but rather the earlier part, the part after the sun goes on its business below the horizon and leaves as a reminder the blue-pink night hanging over the ocean, tourist taking pictures, taking camera, digital camera pictures today, instant, mainly, but, hell who need such tacky reminders when the mind’s eye reeks of blue-pink memory, ancient blue-pink memories.

Maybe it was the sheer, hard fact of leaving, of returning east fast, faster as it turns out that heading west, west to the blue-pink night, to the be-bop night. I will not speak of that airport maze, rat-like or not, again it does not vary on the way back any more than going to. Now I speak of those haunts, those dreaded ancient haunts of having to return to eastern concerns, eastern worries, eastern woes, and a feeling, an old feeling an old Joyel-time feeling of having to go back to routines, not the regular routines that make life bearable but the routines of routines that drive one out on the midnight run to wherever, whenever. And to see, although see only in a flash, the contours of the American night, of the sense of the American landscape, of roads and rivers it took months for ancient pioneer Conestoga wagons to traverse, and weeks for ancient hitchhike roads to swallow. All blaze past in a flash, all lighted strange patterns civilization.

Maybe it was the sheer, hard fact of grabbing a midnight-like cab for the ride home, eastern home, eastern snow-drenched home that had not changed in sight but changed from still present blue-pink memories as always, from leaving but still necessary to face. On such cab rides, such youthfully scorned cab rides, and truth be known youthfully unaffordable rides, I now take when language is no barrier to asking for cabbie stories (although many times such is a problem as this is now a profession, a city profession, by recent immigrants, dominated, seemingly oxymoronic, since how would such fellows know the ancient trails of the east, at least in pre-techno- GPS days) in the hopes of finding some gem story to feed the literary lights, not blue-pink lights by any means, just fill-in road stories. And this night, this night when thoughts have been whirling for weeks about ancient things, ancient things described above, I find a kindred. Cabbie X, ancient cabbie X, fires back in full-bodied, “I don’t have any cabbie stories to tell, but I have some hitchhike stories.” Hell, hell on wheels, be still my heart, tell, brother, tell kindred tell all, and drive slow, stop at every traffic light slow, I have dough in my pocket and a hunger, an unspeakable, unquenchable just now hunger, to hear your tales, your ancient 1960s hitchhike road tales.

Tales about his road from Missoula, Montana to New Haven, Connecticut. (Yes, avoid hitching on those Connecticut roads, and Arizona’s too. Agreed). Of Truckee truck stops. Of truck stop road side diners, and endless cups of coffee, and badgering truckers for long-haul rides. Of hard driving, get to the coast, benny-high truckers seeking to spill their guts to some lone stranger in order to keep awake and pass the hard highway mile. Of Pacific Coast highways brimming with converted magical mystery tour school buses, converted to living housing for the broken-hearted, the love-lorn, the be-bop nighters. Ah, memory.“Hey, you almost didn’t stop at that last traffic light, brother.”

More, more please. Of Nevada desert stops, waiting by lonely crossroads for hours, reading scrawled signs from ancient forbears, maybe those very Conestoga folk, warning that one may wait for a ride to perdition there. Of dope smoke, of friendships, many fleeting, but a feel for that good moment. And at the close of that cabbie night a thought , a cabbie thought- we made it, we were better for it, and we can survive in this old world because we made that venture. No need to speak of the blue-pink night to this brother, such words would be wasted. This is that now dwindling fraternity that sought, maybe still seeks that good night, and that is all that needs to be said. A revolutionary brotherhood handshake, a handshake too hard to describe here but fraught with meaning back in those days, at my door seals our night’s work. Yes, memory almost like a yesterday memory, finely-etched in our collective minds, recallable at an instant.

Maybe it was the sheer, hard fact of carrying around , winter long, winter, snow-blasted long, a song/story in my head, a story recorded by Red Sovine and which I heard by way of the inscrutable Tom Waits, Big Joe and Phantom 309. A story of a fellow hitchhike roader caught out in one of those lonely crossroads to nowhere that every seeker knows about, although they are not always windswept and rain-drenched. Sometimes they are snow-frozen, sometimes, heat-drowned, sometimes, not enough times, just plain, ordinary sunny-dayed. Out of the mist comes the mythical trucker, Big Joe will serve as well any other name, although when I think trucker I always think Denver Slim as he was neither slim (far from it) nor from Denver, and that tells a tale right there. So they ride the night away telling lies and other stories until they come near a truck stop and Big Joe freaks, and the hitchhiker is left, after Big Joe pitches him a dime, to go in for a cup of coffee on Big Joe. Said hitchhiker goes in and tells his story of the ride and with whom and gets the lowdown from a waiter. See Big Joe died, truck-faithful, Phantom 309 faithful died, when he avoided a school bus filled with kids out on that lonely pick-up crossroad. But see Big Joe did another favor, a hitchhike brotherhood favor as the waiter says“have another cup of coffee and keep the dime, keep the dime as a souvenir of Big Joe and Phantom 309.” Great story and I have my own just like it, and Brother Cabbie X had his own, and every man and woman who ever hit the road, by force or desire, has that same story just mix it up a little.

Maybe it was just the sheer, hard fact of listening, listening attentively, listening eagerly on the rented car California roads to old road warrior, Wobblie, kindred of tramps, bums, and hoboes of an earlier age, an age which intersected with the hippie hitchhike road of the 1960s, the late folksinger/songwriter Bruce “Utah” Phillips and his definite Songbook. Listening to old songs of struggle from prairie days, of hobo jungles by the railroad tracks (not today’s high speed ones, no way), and train-jumpers (a different breed that we highway hitchhikers but still searchers. I never had much luck on the trains, and got tossed off a few by the railroad bulls, so I will leave that mode of transportation alone), skid row nights, sidewalk sneers, and destruction of the western hobo night by gentrification. Of paperless street benches, of paper-filled bus depot benches, of public bathroom stenches, of half-way house snores and hostels bland food that dotted the old transient landscape, and have seemingly faded from memory, except on twilight California streets as the homeless hoboes make way to the beach and night time sleeps, sleep it offs, mainly.

Yah, maybe it was all those sheer, hard facts, collectively or individually, that brought me back to memories of the ancient hitchhike road, especially that brother cabbie scene but, finally, here is the real reason. Let me go back to those California roads for a minute, no, not the Pacific Coast highway freedom road (Routes 1 and 101) but the high volume, hard-driving, eighty billion-laned (okay, I exaggerate) Interstate 5 that, one way or another, goes up and down the length of the state. Actually let me go back to the one of the entrances, one of the Oceanside entrances, where beyond belief I spy two youths, a male and female, two youthful Markins and Angelicas maybe, standing on the corner, waiting, waiting for a what. A hitchhike ride of course. In the second it took me to realize that this is what they were doing (they held out no thumb, nor had a sign indicating where they were heading, obviously “green” at this work) and slammed on the brakes I was beside them. “Where are you heading?” asks ancient seeker narrator of this tale. “L.A.,” they shoot back. “Get in.” And they do, the guy (Brandon) in the front and the gal (Lillian) in back. At least they have enough sense to make that configuration, that pair male –female configuration, like we did in the old days just in case things got weird. And I had no intention, no intention in hell, of going back to L.A. that day, except one million questions about their purpose, their reasons for being on the road, and ancient courtesies that dictated that I pick up hitchhikers, a rare, incredibly rare occurrence these days. I will let them tell their stories some other time because this after all is my story but their quest, in any case, involves nothing as grandiose as the search for the blue-pink night although it involved Generation X dreams, and that will have to do.

So the torch is passed, maybe…

Or maybe it is the sheer, hard fact of that knapsack, old Army surplus olive green knapsack, moth-eaten, maybe, moldy, well hitchhike-traveled, well-worn, a lasting memento to that 1969 Angelica-paired road trip sitting in some back closet, up in the attic, or worst, down in the forlorn cellar crying to get out, or maybe some old sea shell of infamous origin also back there calling me back, back to our homeland the road, and the eternal, now I know it is eternal, search for that blue-pink great American West night.

Those Oldies But Goodies…Out In The Be-Bop ‘50s Song Night- The Shirelles “Will You Still Love Me Tomorrow?”- Billie’s, Billie The Pope Of “The Projects” Night, View

Click on the headline to link to aYouTube film clip of The Shirelles performing the classic Will You Still Love Me Tomorrow?.

Markin comment:

This is another tongue-in-cheek commentary, the back story if you like, in the occasional entries under this headline going back to the primordial youth time of the mid to late 1950s with its bags full of classic rock songs for the ages. Of course, any such efforts have to include the views of one Billie, William James Bradley, the schoolboy mad-hatter of the 1950s rock jailbreak out in our “the projects” neighborhood. Yah, in those days, unlike during his later fateful wrong turn trajectory days, every kid, including best friend Markin, me, lived to hear what he had to say about any song that came trumpeting over the radio, at least every one that we would recognize as our own.

Note: Billie and I spent many, many hours mainly up in his tiny bedroom, his rock heaven bedroom, walls plastered with posters of Elvis, Bo Diddley and Chuck Berry and of every new teen heartthrob singer, heartthrob to the girls that is, around, every new record Billie could get his hands on, by hook or by crook, and neatly folded piles of clothing, also gathered by that same hook or by crook, appropriate to the king hell king of the schoolboy rock scene, the elementary school rock scene between about 1956 to 1960. Much of that time was spent discussing the “meaning” of various songs, especially their sexual implications, ah, their mystery of girls-finding-out-about worthiness.

Although in early 1959 my family was beginning to start the process of moving out of the projects, and, more importantly, I had begun to move away from Billie’s orbit, his new found orbit as king hell gangster wannabe, I would still wander back to the old neighborhood until mid-1960 just to hear his take on whatever music was interesting him at the time. These commentaries, these Billie commentaries, are my recollections of his and my conversations on the song lyrics in this series. But I am not relying on memory alone. During this period we would use my father’s tape recorder, by today’s standard his big old reel to reel monstrosity of a tape recorder, to record Billie’s covers of the then current hit songs (for those who have not read previously of Billie’s “heroics” he was a pretty good budding rock singer at the time) and our conversations of those song meanings that we fretted about for hours. I have, painstakingly, had those reels transcribed so that many of these commentaries will be the actual words (somewhat edited, of course) that appear in this space. That said, Billie, king hell rock and roll king of the old neighborhood, knew how to call a lyric, and make us laugh to boot. Wherever you are Billie I’m still pulling for you. Got it.
********

Will You Still Love Me Tomorrow? Lyrics

Carole King

Will You Still Love Me Tomorrow

Tonight you're mine completely,

You give your love so sweetly,

Tonight the light of love is in your eyes,

But will you love me tomorrow?



Is this a lasting treasure,

Or just a moment's pleasure,

Can I believe the magic of your sighs,

Will you still love me tomorrow?



Tonight with words unspoken,

You said that I'm the only one,

But will my heart be broken,

When the night (When the night)

Meets the morning sun.



I'd like to know that your love,

Is love I can be sure of,

So tell me now and I won't ask again,

Will you still love me tomorrow?

Will you still love me tomorrow?

**********
Billie back again, William James Bradley, if you didn’t know. Markin’s pal, Peter Paul Markin’s pal, from over the Adamsville Elementary School and the pope of rock lyrics down here in “the projects.” The Adamsville projects, if you don’t know. Markin, who I hadn’t seen for a while since he moved “uptown” to North Adamsville, came by the other day to breathe in the fresh air of the old neighborhood and we got to talking about this latest record, Will You Still Love Me Tomorrow? by the Shirelles. They are hot.

Fair’s fair right, so I’ll give you Markin’s, Peter Paul’s, take on the lyrics, so I can come crashing down on his silly pipe dream ideas. By the way if you don’t know, and he will tell you this himself if he is honest, he was behind, way behind, in figuring out girls, and their girlish charms. I had to practically tell him everything he knows.

Where did I learn it? Hell like everybody else from the older kids, the older guys, and my older sisters too if you can believe that. So I know a lot, or at least enough to keep old Peter Paul from being a total goofball. Still, see, he thinks the main thing is that the girl in the song here is worried about her reputation because she has just given in, in a moment of passion, to her boyfriend, it’s way too late to turn back and yet she is having second thoughts, second thought regrets, about it, and about what he will think of her and whether it will get around that she “does it.”

Yah, she does it, now officially certified a woman, or at least acting like a woman can act, that is what my sister Donna says, and from the feel of the song, probably in some back seat of some “boss”convertible, a Chevy I hope. Her guy, some under-the-hood day and night guy making that baby, his real baby, hum against the in-stock store-bought standards of his father’s car, his old fogy father’s car. She was breathless weeks ago when her Chevy guy came up gunning that beast behind her walking home from school and said “Hop in.” And she did, now she's the queen bee of the high school Adventure Car-Hop night. All the other girls, friend or foe, frantic at her fortune and ready to leap, girls’ “lav” leap, all over her come Monday morning finely-tuned grapevine gossip time. So tonight was paying back time, car- hop queen bee paying back time. No turning back.

I hope, I really hope, they “did the deed”down by the seashore, big old moon out, big old laughing moon, waves splashing against the rocks and against the sounds of the night, the sounds of the be-bop moaning and groaning night. Call me a romantic but at least I hope that is where she gave it up. Or, maybe, away from coastal shoreline possibilities it was at some secluded lovers’ lane mountain top, tree-lined, dirt road, away from the city noise, some be-bop music playing on the car radio, just to keep those mountain fears away, motor humming against the autumn chill and the creaking sun ready to devour that last mountain top and face the day, and to face the music.

But see that’s where Markin has got it all wrong, all wrong on two counts, because Chevy guy two-timing her, or spreading the “news” about his conquest, or even that hellish girls’ lav whirlwind inferno is not really what’s bothering her. Markin has got this starry-eyed thing, and I think it is from hanging around, or being around, all those straight lace no-go Catholic girls, who do actually worry about their reputations, at least for public consumption. That is why high Catholic that I am, just like old Markin, I don’t go within twenty yards of those, well, teasers. Yah, teasers but that’s a story for another time, because right now we have only time for women, or girls who act like women.

What’s bothering moonstruck girl, number one, is that she likes it, she liked doing it with Chevy guy, and is worried that she’ll go crazy every time a boy gets within an arm’s length of her. She“heard” that once a girl starts doing it they can’t help themselves and are marks, easy marks, for every guy who gives them the eye. Jesus, where did she ever get that idea. Must have been out in the streets, although I personally never heard such an idea when I was asking around. This is what I heard, well, not from the street but from my sister Donna, she said it was okay, natural even, for girls to like sex. If the moment was right, and maybe the guy too. It wasn’t some Propagation of the Faith, do-your-sex-duty to multiply thing we heard in church. Hell, Donna said she liked it too, and believe me, old Donna doesn’t like much if you listen to her long enough. So moonstruck girl don’t worry.

But number two you do have to worry about, although I don’t know what you can do about it now. I never did ask Donna about that part. Pregnant. Yah, the dreaded word for girls and guys alike when you were just trying to have a little fun, just liking it. Now everything your mother told you about “bad” girls, about leaving school, about shot-gun weddings, or about having to go to “Aunt Bessie’s” for a few months, flood memories and as the sun comes up there is momentary panic. Like I say I don’t know what you can do. I don’t know the medical part of the thing. But Peter Paul, leave it to Peter Paul, who knows diddley about sex (except what I tell him) says do you know about “rubbers.” And he got all in a lather telling me that there is some new pill coming out, and coming out soon, so you don’t have to worry. This from a guy was practically missed the first time he kissed a girl. But if he is right, and I ain’t saying he is, then check it out and then you can still like “doing it.” And not worry.

Julian Assange Declared Enemy of the State
by Stephen Lendman Email: lendmanstephen (nospam) sbcglobal.net (verified)	30 Sep 2012
police state
Julian Assange Declared Enemy of the State by Stephen Lendman America is Exhibit A on how democracies aren't supposed to work. Of course, the US isn't one now and never was. Contrary to popular myth, it wasn't established as one. America's founders had other ideas. From May to September 1787, 55 self-serving wheeler-dealers met in Philadelphia. Today we'd call them a Wall Street crowd. What they designed fell far short of common beliefs. Duplicitous politicians, bankers, lawyers, and merchants created a document serving them. Its Preamble gave it away, saying: "We the people of the United States….do ordain and establish this Constitution of the United States of America." In fact, "the people" were left out then and now. The ones they meant were themselves and other privileged elites. Only white male property owners mattered. They alone were enfranchised. At the time, they comprised less than 15% of the electorate. Women were considered homemakers and child bearers. Blacks were property, not people. Native Americans were in the way. Slaughtering and displacing them was policy. From 18th century America to today, democracy has been pure fantasy. The American revolution was little more than operating a similar system under new management. Everything changed but stayed the same. Government by "the people" was no different than under monarchal or autocratic rule. Constitutional provisions are whatever government does or does not do in whatever way it wishes. Ordinary people had no say then or now. They're entirely left out by design. They don't govern. They are governed. The supreme law of the land, in fact, was a huge flop. Bill of Rights provisions enacted in 1891 made little difference for ordinary folks. Privileged ones wanted them for themselves. John Adams said government should be run by "the rich, the well born, and the able." According to John Jay, America's first Supreme Court chief justice, the nation should be governed by people who owned it. It's been that way from inception. Madison is wrongfully called "the Father of the Constitution." In Philadelphia, he was practically a nobody compared to others there. Besides later becoming America's fourth president, he was best known for having kept detailed notes. From them, we know what happened. A year after the Constitution was adopted, he said he wasn't among those who thought it was a "faultless work." Not at all. Given conflicting personal and states' interests, it was the best framers could agree on at the time. Ten years later, he became extremely critical about how the document was written. None of the founders called the Constitution a glorious achievement. They went along because it was better than nothing. Jefferson and Adams weren't involved. Both were abroad as ambassadors to France and Britain respectively. Adams was consider the leading constitutional theorist of his time. His views mattered. Throughout his government service and thereafter, he criticized the Constitution in private correspondence. Jefferson was just as displeased. Until it was added, he objected to omitting a Bill of Rights. He and Madison wanted additional provisions neither got. They urged "freedom from monopolies and commerce (corporate giants) and "freedom from a permanent military (standing armies)." Adams and Hamilton disagreed and prevailed. Why does all this matter? Because it's preamble to America today. From inception, it's been more hypocrisy than democracy. Now, in fact, what few rights remain are threatened. They're eroding fast en route to disappearing altogether. Targeting Assange is one of many examples. Doing so means we're all threatened. Free expression and dissent are endangered. Revealing ugly truths power brokers want suppressed risks putting your freedom and perhaps life in danger. Assange is a political refugee. Since mid-June, he's been holed up in Ecuador's UK embassy. In mid-August, he was granted political asylum. Britain's acting on America's behalf. So is Sweden. Alleged rape charges were fabricated. A Swedish prosecutor found no wrongdoing and dismissed the case. Another on orders from her own government or perhaps Washington reopened it and issued an extradition order. At issue is getting Assange to Sweden on false pretenses. Once there, he'll be shipped off to America for prosecution. An earlier New York Times report said a secret grand jury convened. A sealed indictment charges Assange with spying under the 1917 Espionage Act. Doing so contradicts the law's intent. It doesn't deter Justice Department officials from using it. It passed shortly after America's entry into WW I. Over time, it's been amended numerous times. Originally it prohibited interfering with US military operations, supporting the nation's enemies, promoting insubordination in the ranks, or obstructing military recruitment. In 1921, its most controversial provisions were repealed. In 2010, Bradley Manning was charged under the Act. Technically its under Articles 104 and 134 of the Uniform Code of Military Justice (UCMJ). It includes parts of the US Code. Assange's indictment is ready to be made public whenever Washington wishes to do so. Espionage Act violations will be charged. Stratfor Global Intelligence suggested it last year. A case against him has been building for some time. At issue is getting him out of circulation for life or perhaps executing him. Doing so would send a powerful message to deter other whistleblowers. Obama waged war more aggressively against them than all previous US presidents combined. Assange and Bradley Manning are best known. Anyone exposing dirty secrets officials want suppressed is vulnerable. The message delivered is we know who and where you are or will find out. We'll throw you in gulag hell, keep you there, or kill you. Dare challenge their resolve and find out they're not kidding. America twists legal meanings to serve its interests. Bogus charges facilitate hanging innocent victims out to dry. Headlines portray Assange as public enemy number one. For months, he hasn't had a moment's peace. According to declassified Air Force counterintelligence documents obtained under the Freedom of Information Act (FOIA), he and military personnel who contact WikiLeaks or its supporters may be declared "enemies of the state." The charge carries a possible death sentence if convicted. Article 104 of the US Uniform Code of Military Justice (UCMJ) states: "Any person who….aids, or attempts to aid, the enemy" in any way, "with proper authority, knowingly harbors or protects or gives intelligence to or communicates or corresponds with or holds any intercourse with the enemy, either directly or indirectly, shall suffer death or such other punishment as a court-martial or military commission may direct." On September 27, Michael Ratner, Center for Constitutional Rights president emeritus and Assange's legal adviser, was interviewed on Democracy Now. He said FOIA obtained information revealed that a UK-based US analyst, "a soldier who had top security clearance, (became) sympathetic with Bradley Manning and WikiLeaks." An investigation followed under UCMJ Article 104. She met with friends of Assange. From "the face of the documents, it appears that WikiLeaks and Julian Assange are looked at as the enemy." If so, "it has serious consequences. We all know what you can do with an enemy. You can drone him. You can capture him. You can put him in a cell forever." "So it’s very, very serious. That’s one possibility, or possibly very likely, from reading these documents, (it appears) that WikiLeaks is an enemy and Julian Assange is an enemy." "The other possibility is that WikiLeaks is the means by which this military analyst is communicating with the enemy. She’s turning over documents." "She never did, but she’s allegedly possibly going to turn over documents to WikiLeaks, which then, by doing that, she’s communicating with the enemy, because WikiLeaks is going to publish them, and al-Qaeda or somebody who the US has already designated an enemy is going to read them." Either possibility is terrible for Assange, WikiLeaks, and journalists. "It’s terrible because if WikiLeaks is an enemy—I’ve already said how serious that would be if Julian Assange and WikiLeaks are an enemy—if they’re the means of communicating with the enemy, they could still be charged—WikiLeaks could be charged—with aiding the enemy, could be arrested under the National Defense Authorization Act, could be kept at Guantánamo, etc." Washington refuses to say one way or another if Assange is targeted for prosecution. If not, why not say so? Why persist with the ruse of extraditing him to Sweden on bogus charges. The scheme, of course, is first get him there. Then ship him off to gulag hell in America. It's no secret. Obama officials want blood. They want Assange, Manning and other whistleblowers hung out to dry. They want no interference in imperial plans abroad or repressive homeland ones. Doing so makes perpetrators vulnerable. Hegemons show no mercy. US ruthlessness is well known. It's longstanding. It's worse now than ever. Millions of corpses and the largest prison gulag in the world attest to is viciousness. Aiding or communicating with the enemy charges are fraudulent. Nonetheless, Bradley Manning faces one count under UCMJ's Article 104. He's also charged with numerous other UCMJ violations. Washington wants him imprisoned for life or perhaps dead. Assange is likely targeted the same way. Habeas, due process, and overall judicial fairness are dead letters. Hanging military and right-wing court judges show no mercy. Kangaroo justice is policy. That's how police states work. Whatever Washington says goes. It doesn't matter what's true or false, right or wrong. Fairness isn't in America's vocabulary. Victims are guilty by accusation. Manning, Assange, other whistleblowers, and targeted supporters haven't a chance. America's framers created the ways and means. Modern-day scoundrels could teach them a thing or two. America was never beautiful. Now it's unsafe to live in. Stephen Lendman lives in Chicago and can be reached at lendmanstephen (at) sbcglobal.net. His new book is titled "How Wall Street Fleeces America: Privatized Banking, Government Collusion and Class War" http://www.claritypress.com/Lendman.html Visit his blog site at sjlendman.blogspot.com and listen to cutting-edge discussions with distinguished guests on the Progressive Radio News Hour on the Progressive Radio Network Thursdays at 10AM US Central time and Saturdays and Sundays at noon. All programs are archived for easy listening. http://www.progressiveradionetwork.com/the-progressive-news-hour
See also: http://sjlendman.blogspot.com

Remembering Russell Means
by Stephen Lendman Email: lendmanstephen (nospam) sbcglobal.net (verified)	24 Oct 2012
activism
Remembering Russell Means by Stephen Lendman Over a year ago, he knew he had inoperable esophageal cancer. It spread to his tongue, lymph nodes and lungs. It was just a matter of time. On October 22, it took him. His journey to the spirit world began. In August 2011, he said: "I'm not going to argue with the Great Mystery. Lakota belief is that death is a change of worlds. And I believe like my dad believed." "When it's my time to go, it's my time to go. I've told people after I die, I'm coming back as lightning. When it zaps the White House, they'll know it's me." Earlier he said: "The Universe which controls all life, has a female and male balance that is prevalent throughout our Sacred Grandmother, the Earth." "This balance has to be acknowledged and become the determining factor in all of one’s decisions, be they spiritual, social, healthful, educational or economical." On October 24, he'll be honored in Pine Ridge, SD, the Republic of Lakota. Other gatherings will also celebrate his life and work. Speaking for herself and children, Means' wife, Pearl Daniel Means, said the following: "Hello our relatives. Our dad and husband, now walks among our ancestors. He began his journey to the spirit world at 4:44 am, with the Morning Star, at his home and ranch in Porcupine." "There will be four opportunities for the people to honor his life, to be announced at a later date. Thank you for your prayers and continued support. We love you. As our dad and husband would always say, 'May the Great Mystery continue to guide and protect the paths of you and your loved ones.' " World headlines spread the news. The New York Times said "Russell Means, Who Clashed With Law as He Fought for Indians, Is Dead at 72." He was America's "best known Indian since Sitting Bull and Crazy Horse." In 1968, he joined the American Indian Movement (AIM). In 1970, he became its national director. In 1995, he published his autobiography titled, "Where White Men Fear to Tread." "Bury My Heart at Wounded Knee" author Dee Brown said "reading Means' story is essential for any clear understanding of American Indians during the last half of the twentieth century." New York Times writer Robert McFadden said: Shortly before being diagnosed with inoperable throat cancer, he "cut off his braids. (It was) a gesture of mourning for his people. In Lakota lore, he explained, the hair holds memories, and mourners often cut it to release those memories, and the people in them, to the spirit world." The Washington Post headlined "Russell Means dies at 72; American Indian activist helped lead uprising at Wounded Knee," saying: "(S)elf-styled modern Indian warrior….forced international attention on the plight of Native Americans for more than four decades." Reuters headlined "American Indian activist Russell Means dead at 72," saying: He waged a "lifelong campaign (struggling for) the rights and dignity of his people…." AP called him "a modern Indian warrior. He railed against broken treaties, fought for the return of stolen land, and even took up arms against the federal government." The Los Angeles Times said "he helped thrust the plight of Native Americans into the national spotlight." Press TV called him "an outspoken champion of American Indian rights." Means once said, "Every policy now the Palestinians are enduring was practiced on the American Indians." "What the American Indian Movement says is that the American Indians are the Palestinians of the United States, and the Palestinians are the American Indians of Europe." He called Indian lands open air concentration camps, saying: "If you chose to stay on the reservation, you are guaranteed to be poor, unless you are part of the colonial apparatus set up by the Bureau of Indian Affairs, set up the United States." Prisoner of conscience Leonard Peltier issued a statement, saying in part: "I wish I was there to talk with you in person and share with you the sorrow that I feel with the passing of Russell Means, my brother, my friend, and inspiration on many levels." "Russell Means will always be an icon whenever the American Indian Movement is spoken of and whenever people talk about the changes that took place, the changes that are taking place now for Indian people." "We'll see you again my brother Russell, in some other time and in some other place, we will always be your friend, and we will always look forward to seeing your face. Mitakuye Oyasin (All Are Related from a traditional Lakota Sioux prayer)." Russell Means.com said he "lived a life like few others in this century…" He disliked being called a Native American. "The one thing I've always maintained is that I'm an American Indian." "Everyone who's born in the Western Hemisphere is a Native American. We are all Native Americans." He also said he put "American" before ethnicity. "I'm not a hyphenated African-American or Irish-American or Jewish-American or Mexican-American." Means was born on November 10, 1939 in Wanblee, SD, on the Pine Ridge Oglala Lakota Sioux Indian Reservation. With Dennis Banks and Leonard Peltier, he participated in the 1973 Wounded Knee siege and tragedy. For 71 days, they and other AIM activists held off hundreds off FBI thugs, federal marshals, National Guard troops, and complicit Indian vigilantes. They were called "GOONS (Guardians of Our Oglala Nation)." They sold out for whatever benefits they got in return. On February 27, Oglala Sioux activists reclaimed Wounded Knee. They wanted their 1868 treaty rights honored. It stated that "(t)he government of the United States desires peace, and its honor is hereby pledged to keep it." It also reaffirmed all Indian rights granted under the 1851 Treaty. From 1778 - 1871, Washington negotiated 372 treaties. All were systematically spurned. At Wounded Knee, AIM represented over 75 Indian Nations. For nearly two and a half months, they held on. They were free. It wasn't easy. Washington cut off electricity. Food and other essential deliveries were blocked. Activists were shot and killed. When it ended, hundreds of arrests followed. An FBI/Bureau of Indian Affairs (BIA) reign of terror began. It lasted three years. Roving death squads murdered at least 342 AIM members and supporters. Hundreds more were harassed and beaten. Many more were arrested. Their crime was wanting to live free on their own land. Leonard Peltier was victimized. He was wrongfully convicted on two first-degree murder counts. On June 1, 1977, he got two consecutive life sentences. Despite bogus charges and prosecutorial injustice, he's been denied parole, retrial, clemency, or a pardon. Other nations, past and present congressional members, and hundreds of world dignitaries say he should be unconditionally released. Means was more fortunate. He stayed free to remain active. In 1978, he joined The Longest Walk. Participants protested racist anti-Indian legislation at that time. It included forced sterilization of Indian women. Earlier in 1964, Means, his father, and others occupied Alcatraz. They did so peacefully in accordance with their rights. According to broken treaty obligations, abandoned prison property belongs to Indian tribes. On December 17, 2007, Means and other Lakota people went to Washington. They declared independence. They called it "the latest step in the longest running legal battle" in history. It's not a cessation, they said. It's a lawful "unilateral withdrawal" from treaty obligations permitted under the 1969 Vienna Convention on the Law of Treaties. Means said: "We are no longer citizens of the United States of America and all those who live in the five-state area that encompasses our country are free to join us." "We offer citizenship to anyone provided they renounce their US citizenship." "United States colonial rule is at an end." Signed documents were delivered to the State Department. Sovereignty was declared. The Republic of Lakota was established. It's based on the 1851 Treaty of Fort Laramie. It created the Great Lakota (Sioux) Nation. It states in part: "The territory of the Sioux or Dahcotah Nation, commencing the mouth of the White Earth River, on the Missouri River; thence in a southwesterly direction to the forks of the Platte River; thence up the north fork of the Platte River to a point known as the Red Buts, or where the road leaves the river; thence along the range of mountains known as the Black Hills, to the head-waters of Heart River; thence down Heart River to its mouth; and thence down the Missouri River to the place of beginning." It gave Lakota people portions of northern Nebraska, half of South Dakota, one-fourth of North Dakota, one-fifth of Montana, and 20% of Wyoming. It didn't matter. Unilateral withdrawal from all treaties and agreements became policy. America never honored its own. On September 29, 2012 Means reiterated what he and others declared in December 2007, saying: "We are no longer citizens of the United States of America and all those who live in the five state area that encompasses our country are free to join us." He cited longstanding problems and grievances. They include land theft, resource plunder, poverty, unemployment, repression, and overall human deprivation. All of it remains out of sight and mind. Means had three weeks to live. Lakota spokesman Salomon called his death a "great loss." It came a day after former Senator George McGovern died. He and former Senator James Abourezk tried to negotiate an equitable Wounded Knee settlement. Commenting on Means and McGovern, Abourezk said he "lost two good friends in a matter of two to three days. I don't pretend to understand it." Death, of course, has final say. What matters most is showing up every day and working for right over wrong. Means said he wants to be remembered as an American Indian patriot. He spent most of his adult life proving it. Stephen Lendman lives in Chicago and can be reached at lendmanstephen (at) sbcglobal.net. His new book is titled "How Wall Street Fleeces America: Privatized Banking, Government Collusion and Class War" http://www.claritypress.com/Lendman.html Visit his blog site at sjlendman.blogspot.com and listen to cutting-edge discussions with distinguished guests on the Progressive Radio News Hour on the Progressive Radio Network Thursdays at 10AM US Central time and Saturdays and Sundays at noon. All programs are archived for easy listening. http://www.progressiveradionetwork.com/the-progressive-news-hour
See also: http://sjlendman.blogspot.com

News :: War and Militarism
Photos/Video:Boston Anti-War Protest Oct. 6, 2012
by Michael Borkson Email: nosanctions (nospam) yahoo.com (unverified!)	07 Oct 2012
Boston-Oct. 6, 2012: Several hundred peace activists protested the 11th anniv. of the US war of aggression against the people of Afghanistan--as one of many wordlwide protests against the wars.
Boston,Mass.-Oct.6,2012: Several hundred peace activists from diverse organizations rallied on Boston Common against the US wars abroad and at home.People then marched through downtown Boston;past the military recruiters office, the Hyatt Hotel which is anti-union, Obama For President headquarters, as well as other symbols of US oppression and war. This was one of many worldwide anti-war protests held this weekend including a peace march in Pakistan which Code Pink and other Americans participated in. To view more photos: http://www.flickr.com/photos/protestphotos1/sets/72157631707689497/detai/ To view the video on YouTube: http://youtu.be/OcR6aXhBTdc More info: www.justicewithpeace.org From the organizers event announcement: SATURDAY: Hands Off Syria and Iran OCTOBER 6 ACTION AGAINST WARS ABROAD AND POLICE STATE ATTACKS ON CIVIL LIBERTIES AT HOME Join us in a march and rally to protest the dangerous escalation in threats of military action against Syria and Iran and increased racist violence and repression at home. SATURDAY, OCTOBER 6, 1:30 PM PARK ST. STATION, BOSTON Eleven years ago on October 7, the U.S. unleashed a war on Afghanistan, followed by the war on Iraq based on lies. While thousands of troops remain in these countries, U.S. drone missiles rain down on Pakistan, Yemen, and Somalia. Now the government imposes sanctions and threatens to attack Syria and Iran. The U.S. sends troops and threatens to retaliate against anti-US protesters in the Middle East. These actions will escalate the nightmare of war in the Middle East, not end it. To wage war abroad, they must wage war at home. The last decade has seen escalating repression and poverty at home. Islamophobia and scapegoating of Muslims leads to manufactured frame-ups and violence against the Muslim community. Civil liberties and the right to dissent are under siege with indefinite detention and extra-judicial assassinations now the law of the land. Racism is a weapon of war. They use it against Muslims and immigrants. They’ve stepped up the war on Black and Latino youth, with racial profiling, stop and frisk, and harsh sentencing -- resulting in police brutality, mass incarceration, military weapons in the hands of police, and a hugely profitable prison industry. To pay for wars and to maximize the profits of the haves, they take more and more from the have-nots. We see cuts to the social safety nets, attacks on labor, huge unemployment, privatization of public services, neglect of infrastructure, and poisoning of the environment. LET’S STAND TOGETHER IN UNITY AND SOLIDARITY. TOGETHER WE ARE POWERFUL! HANDS OFF SYRIA AND IRAN! NO TO RACISM, RAIDS, AND REPRESSION! NO TO ISLAMOPHOBIA! * United National Antiwar Coalition * United for Justice with Peace * International Action Center * Women’s International League for Peace and Freedom, Boston * Committee for Peace & Human Rights, Boston * New England United * Rhode Island Mobilization Committee * Veterans For Peace, Smedley D. Butler Brigade *
See also: http://youtu.be/OcR6aXhBTdc http://www.flickr.com/photos/protestphotos1/sets/72157631707689497/detail/

Commentary :: Labor
Workers Stand Up to Walmart
by Mark Vorpahl Email: portland (nospam) workerscompass.org (verified)	18 Oct 2012
When a torrent hits an obstacle that refuses to give, it either flows around or over the obstruction. When workers’ needs for a living wage, fair treatment, and a voice are damned up by an oppressive employer, it is only a matter of time before they find a way of asserting their strength.
Testament to this truth are the strikes at Walmart, the first such actions against the retail behemoth in its 50 year history. The movement began in June when guest workers went on strike to expose forced labor at Walmart’s supplier C.J.’s Seafood in Louisiana. Walmart was fined $250,000 and compelled to suspend its contract with the company. This was followed in September by a strike at a similar warehouse in Inland Empire, California. On this actions’ heels came a three week strike at a warehouse in Elwood, Illinois that receives 70 percent of the chains’ imports. Thirty-eight workers walked out over the retaliatory firing of their co-workers for organizing activity as well as concerns over safety. Standing strong together got results. All workers were reinstated with three weeks back pay and safety concerns finally began to be acted on. Encouraged by this unprecedented victory, the chink in Walmart’s armor began to rapidly expand. At several stores in Pica Rivera, California, workers walked out over management’s attempts to silence them with retaliatory actions against those who spoke up for better conditions. This quickly spread to 28 stores across 12 states. Walmart’s public reaction to these developments has been to dismiss them as “publicity stunts.” However, an October 8th internal memo, intended only for salaried employees, reveals a very different attitude. It advises management on how to discourage workers from taking collective action while also telling them to avoid disciplinary action against employees who engage in walkouts, sit-ins, or sick-outs because of its legal consequences. Since Walmart employees have filed 20 unfair labor practice charges with the National Labor Relations Board (NLRB) within the last 8 weeks because of retaliatory practices, and that striking against such retaliation is legally protected, it is clear that the company’s tops are attempting to adjust their anti-worker tactics. They are, for the moment, feeling compelled to advocate a more cautious approach to recent developments rather than encourage the arrogant manner of dealing with workers that Walmart management is known for. The strikes against Walmart’s treatment of workers have been a long time coming. Because pay and hours are so bad, employees rely on $2.66 billion in government help every year, or about $240,000 per store. Eighty percent of Walmart store workers are using food stamps. They are subject to unpredictable schedules and having their hours cut in order to avoid being paid benefits. In addition, employees have numerous safety concerns and are frequently treated disrespectfully by management higher ups. So resolute is the company’s hatred of Labor that when a store’s employees in Quebec Canada voted to join a union, Walmart closed it down. The main issue for these workers was not wages and benefits, but only to have regular predictable work schedules. While the majority of Walmart’s employees live in poverty, six members of Sam Walton’s (the founder of Walmart) family are worth more financially than the bottom 30 percent of the U.S. population. Sam Walton alone makes more than all Walmart’s wage employees combined and Walmart is the nation’s biggest employer. It was this kind of inequality and conditions faced by workers that spurred the creation of the union movement. However, the United Food and Commercial Workers (UFCW) and others have so far been unable to organize Walmart’s workforce. Initial attempts went by the letter of the law. Once a majority of the employees signed cards to join a union, the NLRB would take six weeks to set up elections so that the workers would be forced to vote again for joining a union. This six week period allowed management to go on an anti-union offensive, holding captive meetings and finding other ways to intimidate the workforce. Consequently, playing by the rules of this game rigged in favor of the employers has failed repeatedly. In addition, organizing on a one-store-at-a-time basis was a shaky strategy because Walmart has already demonstrated that it would rather shut a store down than have it go union. The company is large enough to afford such a sacrifice. The UFCW went on a campaign with other community groups in an attempt to block the building of Walmart stores in various cities. The hope was that by making such trouble for the corporation, its owners would rather allow unionization than deal with the UFCW as an opponent to its expansion efforts. While there was some limited success, this strategy left Walmart’s workers powerless and did not amount to much more than a nuisance in the face of the corporation’s massive funds. It became clear that a new approach was necessary to take on a giant like Walmart. Consequently, the UFCW helped to found “Organization United for Respect at Walmart” (OUR Walmart) and the United Electrical Workers formed “Warehouse Workers for Justice” (WWJ). The unions provide advice and material support for these loose networks composed both of current Walmart workers and their supporters. However, it is up to the membership to determine their own activity. Unlike unions, they do not have the right to bargain with the employers on the employees’ behalf. On the other hand, they are not subject to the NLRB’s election laws that favor corporations. A minority at a workforce can take concerted collective action as long as this action is over an unfair labor practice such as retaliation by the employer. There are great limits to what this form of organization can accomplish on its own. Taking action over wages and benefits, for instance, is off limits. Even more important, it becomes more difficult to take strike action that shuts off the spigot of profits for an employer since that requires shutting down operations by the involvement of the entire workforce, and organizing community supporters in massive picket lines. Without this option for workers, employers are less likely to give in. But the example of strong wins by organizations such as OUR Walmart and WWJ help to pave the way towards wider unity among the workforce and unionization. They help to chip away at the fear workers have in standing united against an employer like Walmart. For instance, WWJ organizer Leah Fried reported that after receiving back pay for their strike in Elwood, Illinois an envious co-worker who had not gone out said he now wished he had done so. Because OUR Walmart and WWJ are organized on a national basis, they can also open up the road for a union drive on a national scale. Walmart has shown that it is willing to close a store rather than have it go union. However, it cannot afford to do this if a majority of workers from dozens of its stores are signing up. The conditions and wages that Walmart workers currently are subjected to have created a downward pressure for retail employees and the entire working class. The recent actions of these workers in defense of their own interests, on the other hand, can reverse this pressure and lift the living standard up for all. _____________________________________________________ To see how you can contribute to this development visit: OUR Walmart at http://forrespect.org/ and Warehouse Workers for Justice at http://www.warehouseworker.org/ and be prepared to take action on Black Friday, November 23, 2012.